Waters Of Understanding
by Luz Nocturnal
Summary: Helmeppo, a modern-day Narcissus.


**Title:** _Waters Of Understanding_  
**Copyright:** One Piece and its characters © Eiichiro Oda. Lyrics © Stone Temple Pilots. The only copyright I stake is intellectual. Thank you, drive through.  
**Notes/Spoilers:** Takes place immediately before chapter 3. I'm hoping the pocket universe bunnies don't eat this like they did _Danse_, because I'm actually aiming for something close to canon. And maybe this will teach me to say his name properly, as I can't seem to stop calling him "Hellempopo". cough

* * *

_Please refill my soul.  
--Stone Temple Pilots, Lounge Fly _

A very long time ago, in a land far from ours, there once lived a beautiful youth who knew nothing of love. When others offered him that gift, he rejected them. Then, one day, he stared into a pool of crystal-blue water and discovered his own reflection, and for the first time, fell in love. And there he remained, transfixed, until he withered away.

Narcissus was a fool.

These were thoughts running through the mind of a high-born son as he stood proudly before his mirror image, preparing to present himself to the day.

Narcissus was selfish. He was beautiful and he kept it all to himself.

Helmeppo had no such problem. He was a generous man, and he liked to share.

He pulled his coat on with the ease born of repetition, and began to fuss with its seating on his shoulders.

Deciding which angle he looked best from was a puzzler. His new jacket was tailor-made, in a color that certainly complimented his complexion, and, so the tailor said, with lapels that accented his strong jaw.

Strong, proud jawlines ran in the family. Although, anyone would have to admit, he had the best chin of them all.

The best hair, as well. Undoubtedly.

Of course, no one really _said_ these things, especially not around the Captain. Axe Hand Morgan wasn't a man who spent time worrying after his looks, but any word even a shade from utter loyalty could mean grievous injury, and even death.

Helmeppo had pride, but also the brains enough not to point out his father's inadequacies. Of which there were many.

The morning sun peeked warmly through the window in Helmeppo's quarters. Outside, the birds sang their songs and there was a disgusting bounty hunter strung up in the courtyard by ropes and a promise. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day.

A light chuckle bubbled from Helmeppo's mouth. He had given his word, yes, but he rescinded it whenever he saw fit. And he doubted words of honor meant anything to Roronoa Zoro, who he dearly hoped was already suffering in the sunlight of his ninth day captive.

Something wasn't quite... right. Helmeppo studied himself from every angle in the mirror, turning, posing, fault-finding. A tedious task. Something was amiss, but what?

Delicate lips withheld the groan of annoyance as he watched his glassy twin; nothing was wrong, and yet, something wasn't right.

Wait... yes, there. Finally. He knew he'd find the trouble if he searched. Adjusting the cuffs that covered slim, milky wrists, he was finally satisfied with his reflection.

"They don't deserve me," he giggled, in a quiet, private sort of way.

Maybe he should have dressed down, today, he thought. Perhaps he was being too flashy, drawing too much attention. He really didn't need tailor-made suits in colors of spring or night. He knew very well that he could walk the town in a potato sack and get just as many looks of adoration.

Helmeppo was a cruel man, sometimes. He knew it. He loved it. On many occasions, he had pretended not to notice the mothers shooing their daughters indoors and out of sight when they saw him coming. Poor dears couldn't help themselves; he understood, and that's why he never said anything.

For all the cloistered daughters, there were just as many young ladies about their business in town. He had seen their coy looks of admiration, always too meek to approach him. Such a town! Overflowing with shy maidens.

It wasn't just the womenfolk who watched him adoringly, oh no. The young, the old, the mothers and crones whose eyes followed him; he knew of them. Helmeppo was an observant man, after all. That is why he knew some of the men watched him, too. They never said anything, pride and society binding them, but Helmeppo knew. Sometimes, when they smiled at him, he would smile in return. Because he understood. All too well, he understood.

Shaking his head, Helmeppo withdrew himself from such faraway thoughts and gave his reflection one last appraisal. He smiled. It should have been a crime.

"We're winners, aren't we? Yes, we are," he cooed to his eager other.

Helmeppo turned away and left the gazing pool.

_End._


End file.
